


Suffragette City

by Wicker



Series: Reader Inserts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Casual Sex, Condoms, Emotional Roller Coaster, Exhibitionism, F/M, Hook-Up, Reader-Insert, Sam is very good in the sack and bad everywhere else, Season/Series 06, Self Confidence Issues, Soulless Sam Winchester, past hook-up mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicker/pseuds/Wicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late 2010, and neither the reader or Dean have any idea that Sam Winchester is walking around without a soul. Sam is quite obliging when it comes to no-attachment sex.</p><p>One-shot intended to go well with other reader-inserts I've got in the works.</p><p>If you would like the InteractiveFics Chrome extention to replace "Y/N" with another name, get it <a href="http://silencethroughwords.tumblr.com/readerinsert/"> here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffragette City

 

 

 

It didn’t take too long to figure out which bar Sam had meant when he responded to your text. He hadn’t said a thing about being with somebody, so when you saw the back of a sandy-haired man sitting opposite of Sam in the booth, you passed them both by on the way to the bathrooms. He might be working a case—the man with him wasn’t one of his Campbell cousins, and not somebody you recognized; you’d play it cool so you wouldn’t fuck up Sam’s investigation.

You stood and played with the payphone between the restrooms, reading the scrawl on the board behind it from generations of erstwhile roadies, and wrote your own with a red pen you always carried in your pocket. Sam made fun of you because of the glitter in the ink, but it was distinctive and would serve as a calling card. _“Where can I find you later?”_

You sauntered over to the bar and took up a seat with your back to both of them, and ordered a gin and tonic, keeping an eye on their booth with the help of the mirror behind the bottles of vodka in front of you. The bartender immediately picked up on the fact that you wanted to be alone, collected your cash, and worked on slicing limes a dozen feet down the bar. The conversation in the booth behind you was low, and you only caught a few tantalizing words here and there. _“Wendigo”_ was definitely one of them, and it wasn’t Sam that was talking, either.

After a few minutes, Sam excused himself to go to the restroom and he met your eyes in the mirror as he got up, giving you a decidedly mischievous smirk. You liked the sideburns he’d grown since the last time you saw him a few months before. When he was gone, you turned to look at the other man over your shoulder and caught him already checking out the back of your jeans. He looked up and gave you what you figured was supposed to be a confident wink. It would have come off as salacious if he hadn’t looked kinda bashful.

You rolled your eyes and polished off the last of your drink before standing up and walking over to the booth. He licked his lips and flashed a big smile as you slid in across from him.

“Well, hey, how are you?” His freckles were pretty cute and he made an attempt to swagger while seated. In your head, you decided to nickname him _apple pie._ You stretched out on Sam’s side of the booth.

“Pretty good. What are you up to?” You just grabbed a piece of paper close to you, what looked like a fragment of a map.

He stopped himself from snatching it out of your hands and cleared his throat.  “Just camping.”

You snorted and looked at the tattered edge of the paper and a few notations in pen scrawled here and there. “Looks like a treasure map.”

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You sat the paper back down in front of him and played idly with your hair. _Apple pie_ relaxed a lot as soon as you stopped looking at the pile of scraps. “What’s yours?”

“Dean.”

“Well, Dean, I don’t live here, and I sure as hell ain’t staying in this town, but if you’re gonna look at my ass like that I figure I better at least get your name.”

Good lord, he actually blushed. At last, Sam returned from the bathrooms and stood at the end of the table. “Um… hi.”

Dean gestured at you. “Sammy, hey. This is Y/N. She was just…”

“Leaving, actually.” You stood up and scooted out of the booth, sliding past his shoulder smoothly and heading to the bathroom. The fresh scrawl under your note by the phone made you smile. _“Room 23, The Dugout.”_

You went out the back door, climbed into your beat up 4-runner, and drove around the corner to where the understated motel squatted under a dingy neon sign.

Once you picked the lock and were inside the room, you put together that Dean was probably staying with Sam in the other bed. It wouldn’t do if he walked in first, so you sat on the edge of the bathtub and waited. You weren’t sure what it was about Sam that had you coming back—attachments weren’t really a thing you liked to dabble in. Maybe it was because of him being so smoking hot, but you didn't think so. There was always something about him that had you on edge; something that coiled in your stomach; a mix of fear or anticipation.

It was only a half hour before you heard the sound of the motel door opening and a bit of muttered conversation in the room. You shifted silently to sit in the tub behind the shower curtain, which was covered in baseball diamonds, of all things. You didn’t really understand why he didn’t sleep in his car more often, but maybe Sam was just too tall to fit across the bench seat. At least the car wasn’t this fucking _tacky._

You took a moment to unbutton your shirt and prayed that Sam got rid of that Dean guy. It would be really awkward if he had to go to the bathroom with you laying in the tub. After a moment of consideration, you wrapped the shirt closed again. The point was seduction, not outright sluttiness.

There were snatches of muffled conversation in the room of the motel, but this time you weren't able to catch what they were talking about. The thumps and sound of the TV made it sound like they were settling in for the evening, and you cursed. In the tub your head was at a weird angle. Even if Dean didn't discover you, your neck couldn't take more than an hour of this.

You heard the room's door shut and breathed a sigh of relief. Then the phone in your pocket beeped, and the bathroom door opened—just as you were about to quietly break the thing out of frustration.  

The bathroom door closed again and you held your breath.

Sam whisked the shower curtain back and smirked down at you. “Well, hey, stranger.”

You sat up and the tub squeaked as your boots scraped for purchase. “How long’s he gone for?”

“Considering how quick you get off, long enough.”

“That’s not fair. I was in a dry spell last time.”

“What about lately?” Sam offered you a hand and helped you up.

You scoffed. “Well, yeah, it’s more of a habit than a dry spell, okay?”

He touched your stomach lightly, and his fingers sought the hem of your shirt and pulled it open, fingers finding old scars and running across them like he was refreshing his memory of the map on your skin.

Sam turned you to stand in front of him, facing the mirror. You looked up at him, away from yourself, and bit your lip. “Turn the lights off?”

He slid his hands up to cup your bra, peeled the fabric down to expose what he could without pulling it off. “You always get so shy when I want to look at you.” He squeezed and rolled your breasts in his palms.

You groaned, half-tired of the subject, half impossibly turned-on. He shouldn’t have to look so close, and it almost felt humiliating—the way he peered at the scrapes and bruises like they were as attractive as the smooth curves of some model on the cover of a magazine.

You could have loved Sam Winchester, in some dark and needy part of you that wanted someone even _more_ fucked up than you were. Thank god he was only into a hook-up here and there across the webbed interstate of the midwest.

He stilled with his hands on your waist while you slid out of your jeans. Sam's fingers were only a few inches from your navel, and you could feel both of his thumbs brushing your spine. Not a whole lot of guys could make you feel delicate and small, and it drove you nuts. You tried to rub back against the front of his pants, to feel the jutting hardness you knew was there, but he pushed you down over the edge of the counter and grunted “Pull your underwear off, Y/N.”

You reached down to flip the elastic over the jut of your hips and looked back at him in the mirror to see him, looking down at your ass clinically. He looked as though he was making plans and weighing them against the allotted time the two of you had to fuck. You wiggled your panties off and kicked them to the floor.

“I don’t mean to say you’re easy, but from where I’m standing—” Sam unzipped and it practically echoed in the tiny room. “I only see an upside.”

“Is that a pun about my ass, Sammy?”

He slapped you on the right cheek and clutched right after to keep you still. You felt his cock graze you and press against your folds, teasing the tip back and forth, and slipping between your upper thighs.

You groaned shallowly and he pushed you forward to bend down over the counter, and kicked your ankles out so you had to scramble to hang on to the sink’s edge. “Fuck, Sam.”

The sound of a condom wrapper ripping was almost eclipsed by his short laugh. “Gimmie a second, Y/N.”

You half-expected that he would just go for it, and slide right in, but his fingers found you first and shallowly dipped inside, then delicately spread you so he could find your clit and rub your wetness over it. You bit your lip and looked back at him in the mirror expectantly.

He huffed and slid two fingers inside of you, pumping them shallowly at first, until you relaxed. Not that you’d compliment the man and give him an even larger ego, but Sam had a cock that was on the larger side of “well endowed.” He snuck in a third finger and twisted them as he bent down to kiss and nibble at your shoulder, and pulled his fingers free to push the head of his shaft in.

“Dry spell is right,” he groaned as he leaned in, hips rocking gently yet insistently. “I mean, you’re not _dry,_ but, damn, that’s tight.” **  
**

You could barely speak. It didn’t hurt, but you already felt full, and were consumed with the feeling of being entered. “Shh, shut up, Sam,” you gasped unevenly.

In the mirror, you saw the flash of a rakish grin behind the fall of his hair. He laid both hands down at your waist and thrust further inside, forcing a gasp from you. When he pulled back out and immediately rocked back in, you felt the jut of his hips finally brush your backside.

“Fuck,” you squeaked. Maybe it did hurt, a little. That didn’t mean you weren’t into it. Sweat was beading on your forehead. You got your toes on the ground and pushed up onto the tips of them, tilting your hips up, he groaned, and immediately started to thrust. **  
**

Sam was quiet, breathing through clenched teeth as he set up a rhythm that managed to push him deeper until he was sliding quickly all the way in, slapping the skin of his thighs against yours.

You tried not to listen too carefully to your own noises because you knew you sounded like a porn star. And with the way he was going, there was no way you would be able to stave off your orgasm for long.

Sam suddenly froze and covered your mouth with his massive hand. You could smell yourself on his fingers, and tried to rock your hips  back underneath him.

In the mirror, you looked like you were in the middle of running a marathon. Then you heard the shuffling on the other side of the door. Fuck, someone was in the motel room.

“C’mon, Sammy, I got the car ready. Did you fall in?” Then the knock on the door happened, and you jerked under Sam, eyes wide. He stayed locked exactly where he was, of course. Moving that man took more muscle than you had in this position.

“In a minute, Dean.” Sam’s voice was annoyed, but calm and unaffected.

Fuck. _Fuck. Shit._  You hated the thought of being caught by the other guy. Goosebumps stood out on your skin, and you clenched around Sam, and then suddenly, illogically, came around him with a stuttering tremble that you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

With the roaring going on  in your ears, you skipped a little of their awkward conversation, until you heard Dean through the door. “Right, I’m checking us out. Meet you in the car.”

Sam was looking down at you in the mirror like you were some kind of science experiment. He stayed still until the motel room door closed, then he pulled his hand from your mouth slowly, rubbing his fingers across your lips.

“Y/N… did you just… come on my cock when my brother knocked on the door?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was tiny, and you tilted your head down.

He pet your spine. “That is so fucking hot.”

You let out a deep breath. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

Sam thrust gently, experimentally. “Fine.” He reached down to pull one of  your legs up to rest on the counter, fingers digging into your thigh. “There we go.”

You whimpered—he brushed your sensitized clit with every thrust, and you weren’t sure you could take it. Well, you also weren’t sure that you ever wanted him to leave.

After a few moments, he picked up speed again. In the mirror you could see that he was biting his lip, eyes down to where he was sliding in and out of you so fast it made it hard to breathe.

“Sam, fuck,” you begged. _“Please.”_ The echo of slapping flesh was obscene.

He must have known how sensitive you would be, because his fingers were delicate and just barely stroked you, reaching around your leg and slowing down to make sure he found where he wanted to touch you.

The sensation was so sharp and all-encompassing that you had to close your eyes. He cursed behind you and pulled you upright, one arm tight around your chest with his hand under your breast.

You were gasping and your legs shuddered. If it didn’t feel so damn good, you would be embarrassed about how easily he could make you come. When he bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave marks, you lost it, pitching your head back against his chest and clenched hard around him, every vein in your body open and on fire.

He twitched inside of you and groaned deeply, lapped where he’d bitten you, as if he could soothe the bruised skin.

He was weirdly tender for a minute or so after that, as though he’d learned to help a girl keep her feet, to nuzzle her neck beneath her ear. After he pulled out, he even knelt to retrieve your panties for you and handed them over.

“You were better this time around,” He said with a smirk. Always trust Sam to say the wrong thing. He could fly you to the moon with those goddamn abs, but shit if he couldn’t rip the rose-tinted glasses right off your face with a pointed observation. You sighed and slid the underwear back on, and sought out your pants as he peeled off his condom.

You looked in the mirror and then away. “Guess I’m better on the road,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, that’s about what I figured. Less attachments.” He zipped up without looking over at you and pulled down the shirt that he hadn’t even pulled all the way off. “Where you heading from here? We’ll be done with this hunt in a couple days.”

You buttoned your top and lied. “Gotta go to Galveston. Just a restless spirit, but it’s a long way.”

He seemed to know you were bullshitting him, but didn’t care enough to test you about it. “Was that good for you?”

“Sam, you know how good you are. That was fine.”

His eyes narrowed as he read between the lines. Maybe you were looking for someone who didn’t just give you a quick roll, but you’d die before coming out and admitting something that made you feel that weak. Sam was fantastic, really, but he was also cold, and made you feel vulnerable in his wake.

Eventually, awkwardly, after you’d smoothed your hair down, Sam spoke up. “Give ten minutes for us to leave. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see ya.” You sat down on the bathroom counter to wait.  

He left the bathroom door a little ajar, and when he left with his bag, Dean was right outside. You fidgeted with your gun—an anxious habit more than anything else. Of course, you heard everything.

“So, what’s her name?”

“I’m not introducing you,” Sam growled.

“You sure?”

“Sometimes, Dean, I think you want to get me killed.”

“Ooh, spicy.” Their car’s doors slammed shut in quick succession and the motor roared to life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [ WhatAboutTheFish ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish)and [ Castielsstar ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsstarr) for beta reading and helping me edit. (Second person is hard.)  
> This work is intended as a prequel to my Benny/Reader fic >["Torch"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3752176)


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